


You Love Who You Love

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, F/M, Friends to Lovers, obligatory thanksgiving fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: ‘i got drunk and confessed my feelings for you...and then forgot’ au





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) Thanksgiving, my lil peanuts! This fic has fought me every step of the way, but I was determined to finish it, and even though it’s a bit late, I hope you guys enjoy it anyway :) I don’t say this enough but thank you so much for making this fandom my favorite place to be at the end of the day. Thank you for your kindness and your love, for flailing with me and reading my fics, for being as over the moon as I am about a badass pirate hero and his equally badass Savior princess girlfriend. You guys brighten up my life endlessly and I adore you <3

The thing about Killian and Emma is that they’ve _been_ Killian and Emma pretty much since the dawn of time. Alright, maybe not ‘since the dawn of time,’ but pretty damn close. At least since David’s 30th birthday five years ago, when Mary Margaret had planned this extravagant surprise party, only to forget to leave the key under the mat, and the two of them -- despite having just met -- volunteered to climb David’s fire escape together to break into his apartment so they could let everyone else in for party set up.

Nothing says ‘instant friendship’ like committing a felony together.

(Though Killian had argued that it would have been considered a ‘misdemeanor,’ since neither of them intended to burglarize Dave’s place. She’d replied that pilfering his private liquor collection without his knowledge -- or permission, for that matter -- would be considered theft, and therefore bump them up into felony territory. His only reply to that had been to raise his glass and toast to her with an amused quirk of his brow and equally amused grin while they had sat companionably out on the fire escape towards the end of the night.)

They’ve been inseparable since. Well, unless she counts these last two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving.

“I don’t think I’m going to Friendsgiving this year,” she tells Mary Margaret over the phone, dropping the bomb as she flops down on her couch in her apartment.

“ _What?_ What do you mean? Emma, it’s tradition! You can’t just... _not come!_ ”

She winces at the high pitched tone her friend’s voice takes on, holding the phone out a little bit to save what she can of her eardrum.

“I know, I know,” she sighs. “I just- I don’t really feel like...being around people this year.”

“You never feel like being around people during the holidays, that’s nothing new,” Mary Margaret points out, stubborn as ever. “And you still come anyway.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Alright, what’s _really_ going on?”

Her nose scrunches at that, torn between lying and venting until she’s blue in the face.

“It’s Killian,” she says finally, the desire to empty her bitch bag winning out in the end.

“What about him?”

“He’s just...been... _weird_ lately.”

“What kind of weird?”

Emma runs a hand roughly over her face before moving it up to fist at the hair at the top her head, thinking about her best friend and his abrupt lack of presence in her life.

“I don’t know,” she answers, frustration creeping in on the edges of her words. “ _Weird_. Like...cancelled our last two Friday Netflix nights.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That _is_ weird.”

“ _I know!_ And he’s been really short on the phone- not outright rude or anything, or even distant because he still gets back to me if I do call or text, but his replies and responses don’t have that same...Killian gusto, you know? And he just...hasn’t been _around_.”

“Killian adores you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get upset with you... _ever_. Did something happen?”

Emma sighs again. There’s a strange nagging sensation between her shoulder blades, a weird feeling that settles in the pit of her stomach that she can’t quite put her finger on as she tries to wrack her brain for some kind of clue that could help her figure out Killian’s sudden and strange behavior.

“I have no idea what I did, or if I even _did_ anything,” she replies. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head, maybe I’m just being crazy.”

“Well, have you tried asking him about it?”

She scoffs at that. “ _No_ , of course not.”

“Ah,” Mary Margaret replies, and Emma can hear her smile in that one simple sound. “Classic Emma Swan avoidance tactic.”

“Well, what if it _is_ just in my head?”

“Then you can still come to Friendsgiving.”

_Fuck_. She walked right into that one.

“Emma, look, you and Killian are very much alike. That’s why you’re such good friends. You know the holidays are just as hard on him as they are for you; he’s probably just in a mood or something. But that’s not a good enough reason for you to skip out on Friendsgiving. We do this every year! Besides, I know for a fact that Killian is still coming knowing full well that you have every intention of being there too. So if something really were wrong, he’d probably be doing what you’re doing right now.”

She makes another face, flailing about on the couch like a child throwing a little tantrum. She absolutely hates that Mary Margaret is so good at verbally muscling people around to get her way. “Alright, alright. _Fine_. I’ll go.”

“Good, and don’t forget the stuffing, you know David and Killian will have a riot if you do.”

* * *

She arrives to David and Mary Margaret’s in the late afternoon. They had long since moved out of the city after they’d gotten married a few years ago. It’s a decent sized two-story in a really nice neighborhood -- big yard, white picket fence, huge trees quaintly lining the sidewalks and crowding the front lawn. Perfect for building a home and raising a family and spending the rest of their lives together.

There’s a tiny curl of envy in the pit of her stomach as she makes her way up the walkway, one she would never admit to, but it’s there all the same. There were a lot of things in the cards for her growing up, but that stability and love and _home_ they have never seemed to be in them.

She takes a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, steeling herself for what awaits her inside. She’s not much a fan of crowds, never has been, but she’s learned to adapt over the years, and she made sure to spend the days leading up to Thanksgiving mentally preparing herself for spending most of the afternoon and a good chunk of the evening with a large group of people. (Though the only one she’s really worried about is Killian.)

He’s already there, much to her dismay, looking cozy standing by the fireplace in his black knit sweater and dark jeans with a beer in hand while he laughs at something someone’s said. David makes a big fuss over her arrival, taking the dish from her hands and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek in greeting. She forces a smile and attempts to muster up even a fraction of his enthusiasm, trying not to be distracted by the glances she keeps sneaking at Killian over his shoulder while he sidesteps out of the doorway to let her into the house.

She crosses the threshold and frowns when she discovers that Killian is chatting with Tink. Emma grits her teeth and feels her jaw clench at the way his dimples deepen even further in his cheeks as he reaches out and draws the pixie-faced blonde into his side to give her a squeeze. She has half a mind to shrug back into the coat she’s just taken off and slip out the way she came, but then Mary Margaret fills her vision, waddling over to her with a belly burgeoning with a child due in less than a month, and a smile bright enough to light up a Christmas tree. She hugs her tight, and in the process, Emma catches Killian’s gaze from across the room. He smiles back when she does, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and her stomach sinks.

Mary Margaret was right, she _knows_ him, and she knows that this -- whatever has happened and is currently happening -- is definitely not just in her head.

She makes her lips tug up when Mary Margaret pulls away and takes her coat from her to hang it up. “Come in, come in! It’s freezing! We’re still waiting for Ruby and Mulan, and Robin and Regina. Merida just got here with two cases of beer, if you want some, but I also made hot chocolate from scratch,” she winks. “With extra cinnamon.”

She has no response for that either, can’t muster a word as she shuffles further into the house with a final, wistful glance towards the now closed door. She’s greeted one by one by friends she’s known through David and Mary Margaret since forever, and also a few acquaintances she’s just met recently in previous years. Eventually, she makes her way around to the little group Killian’s found himself in, going through the motions of saying hello and catching up.

There’s a shadow in his eyes that makes it difficult to figure out exactly how she should greet him, but he solves the matter by leaning forward, curling his hand around her arm and making her jump at the unexpected contact. Instinctively, she turns her head and he accidentally catches the corner of her mouth with his lips.

Her cheeks warm immediately, the heat spreading outwards while her eyes widen in surprise. He stands there as unmoving as she is, staring at her while a strange and unfamiliar tension rises up quietly between them.

“Apologies,” he murmurs.

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

He seems to have something to say to that, but the doorbell abruptly rings and draws her attention away, and the whole commotion of welcoming a new guest begins all over again. Killian is gone when she turns her head back towards his direction and she sighs internally. She’s in for a long night. A really, _really_ long night.

* * *

There’s Christmas music in the air, the kind that makes people want to jump in and sing obnoxiously at the top of their lungs, to her endless amusement. The drink cupped between her hands is warm, and the taste of cinnamon lingers sweet and spicy on her tongue. Laughter and conversation flow in abundance around her, and yet, she’s never felt more miserable in her life.

It’s strange to be sitting sandwiched between Merida and Robin, the two of whom are talking over her about some archery club they’ve both just recently joined. It’s strange because she shouldn’t _be_ sitting between the two of them. She should be sitting with Killian, planning an escape from the festivities or trying to figure out where David’s hidden his booze this year.

Instead, Killian’s off in the corner, showing off his stupidly adorable juggling skills and making their friends cheer while they take videos. She imagines his antics will be all over social media by the end of the night...and she won’t be in any of them. It’s a terribly depressing thought.

She excuses herself from the table, intent on raiding the alcohol section of the kitchen for some rum. She could desperately use a little extra kick in her hot chocolate right now.

The kitchen is mostly empty, thank god, and in no time at all she’s seated on a stool at the counter of the center island, nursing her mixed drink all by her lonesome. There’s a rustle from the entryway into the kitchen, Killian’s booming laughter as he agrees to a juggling competition with Aladdin.

And then his eyes meet hers and he freezes up, the expression on his face changing from happy and carefree to melancholy and hesitant in a split second.

“Swan,” he says, looking exactly like a deer caught in headlights.

She doesn’t say anything, she’s not really certain what _to_ say.

“If you two are planning a jailbreak, don’t even try it. Not gonna happen,” Mary Margaret interrupts, giving them both knowing looks as she shuffles into the kitchen to pull her mac and cheese out of the oven.

Or rather, attempt to. Her baby bump makes it difficult to bend over to retrieve the dish from inside.

“Well,” she frowns, straightening and placing one hand on her belly and the other on her waist. “That’s not gonna happen either.”

Emma moves without any prompting, an affectionate smile on her lips. A smile that slowly fades away when she realizes too late that Killian has had the same thought as her, crossing the short distance to come to Mary Margaret’s aid. He’s much, much closer than he had been a minute ago and those tormented blue eyes are even worse up close, making her heart squeeze in her chest. She’s not sure if Mary Margaret feels the tension between them the same way she does, but she’d be surprised if Mary Margaret didn’t.

To avoid any awkwardness, she maneuvers out of his way and allows him to complete the task, turning to Mary Margaret with a ‘ _See? I told you so_ ’ look on her face. She doesn’t have time to respond to Emma, smiling brightly instead at Killian when he glances their way after he’s set the hot dish on the cooling rack David had preset on the counter earlier.

“Thank you, Killian,” Mary Margaret tells him and then she turns back towards Emma. “He’s been so helpful, hasn’t he? Why don’t you go grab him another beer for his trouble?”

Emma gives her a narrow-eyed glance, one that Mary Margaret returns with a wider smile and eyes that tell her to ‘ _Talk to him, for god’s sake!_ ’ She resists making a face, just barely, and wordlessly goes to retrieve the bottle of alcohol. When she turns back to face him, he steps towards her and takes the proffered beer. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Mary Margaret quietly slips out of the room to leave them to themselves.

“Thanks,” he says.

It also doesn’t go unnoticed that he carefully and purposefully snags the bottle by the neck, avoiding any accidental contact with her. She sighs, glancing down at her feet for a brief moment before tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s so silly to feel like she’s walking on egg shells around him, to feel like she can’t _talk_ to him, and when she glances up to tell him as much, it surprises her to see him looking exactly like how she feels.

“Killian-”

“Jones!” Aladdin calls out, poking his head around the corner from the formal dining room and successfully ruining her chance to finally ask him what is going on with them. “Are we juggling or not?”

“Go ahead,” she tells him, forcing her lips up when he looks back to her.

He doesn’t say anything to her but at least he returns the smile. She watches him go, curling her arms around her midsection and feeling her insides tighten up when he pauses at the entryway. He glances at her again, appears to want to say something before he leaves, but then a chorus of his name steals his attention away, and when he rounds the corner, she hopes -- shamelessly -- that Aladdin kicks his ass.

* * *

It takes about another hour of them dancing around each other before she hits her boiling point, and the next time he leaves for a restroom break, she stealthy slips away to follow after him. She comes up behind him and shoves him into the nearest bedroom before he reaches his destination. He stumbles into the room with a curse and she quickly closes the door, whirling around to face him.

“What the hell, Swan?”

“We need to talk.”

He huffs out a breath giving her an exasperated look before gesturing at the door she’s currently blocking with her body. “Well, I need to use the loo-”

“You can use it later,” she snaps. “After you tell me what is going on.”

His face goes hard, jaw clenching as he averts his gaze. He starts to pace, hands falling to his waist while he agitatedly wears a path in the carpet of Mary Margaret and David’s bedroom. It makes her chest ache to see him like that, to see him so troubled and not knowing why.

“Killian,” she starts. “Look-”

The door abruptly swings open, hitting her square in the back and making her gasp and stumble forward. David apologizes out of reflex, poking his head through the door.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize- Emma? Killian?” He steps further into the room, brows pinching together while his gaze shifts back and forth between them. “What...are you guys doing here? Alone. In my room.”

Emma doesn’t miss the big brother tone that works its way into David’s voice, and she definitely doesn’t miss the grit in Killian’s when he replies, “Nothing, mate. We were just leaving.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, avoiding Emma’s gaze as he sidesteps around her and David to do just that.

“Do you want to explain what all that was about?” David wonders after a beat.

“Not particularly,” she replies, taking Killian’s lead and exiting the room, irritated beyond belief that they can’t get two seconds alone without being interrupted.

She catches her foot on the edge of the hallway runner and promptly trips over her feet. It’s nothing new, she’s tripped over her feet a million times over the course of her life, but for some reason, this particular stumble triggers something inside of her. It’s like a light switch being flipped, and everything comes rushing back in an overwhelming wave of memories and emotions.

Girls’ night.

Two weeks ago.

She’d been too drunk to get home on her own and Killian -- no questions asked, without a single bit of hesitation -- had come to her rescue like some knight in shining armor, picking her up and escorting her home. He’d been so kind, sweetly allowing her to lean on him the entire way back to her apartment with her head on his shoulder, and patiently listening to her apologize over and over for dragging him out of bed at 2:00 AM just to take care of her.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he’d teased, dimples winking in his checks with the affectionate curving of his lips. “I would only ever do this for you.”

“I know, I know,” she’d answered. “You’re so good to me.”

He’d merely smiled wider at that, unlocking her door and wrapping his arm back around her to help her inside.

“Killian?”

“Aye, Swan?”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Understatement of the century,” he’d chuckled, patting her back while she’d continued to lean her weight against him. “Now, come on. You’re for bed, love.”

“Killian?”

“Aye, Swan?”

“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” It had been a thought at the forefront of her mind since he’d first walked into the bar -- scruffy-looking and hair delectably mussed from sleep, wearing jeans and his favored black leather jacket over a black t-shirt -- or, you know, since forever.

She’d tripped over her own feet then, would have fallen flat on her face if he hadn’t caught her and hauled her up against him. Her arms had had no place to go but around his neck, and that had been the beginning of the end.

“You think I’m handsome?” he’d wondered.

“More than is probably fair for any one person to be.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she’d breathed.

“Well, that’s nice to know.”

“You can thank tequila later.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

“‘Kay.”

They’d stood there staring at each other for the longest time, the air around them growing thick and hot and making her feel as restless as the fingers flexing against her hips, and then she’d made the mistake of flicking her gaze down to his mouth. Things had escalated fairly quickly after that, it was hard not to with their faces so close, and his eyes so wide and blue. His lips swollen and pink from the cold, just begging to be warmed with a kiss.

So she’d kissed him.

Pressed up onto her toes the same moment she’d threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him towards her. It was hardly her finest moment, completely lacking finesse -- her teeth had clacked with his, for god’s sake -- but it was difficult to care when it felt like her whole body had been ignited from the inside with just that single press of lips. She’d kissed him sloppily, desperately, had all but clawed at him like she was trying to get inside him.

And worst of all -- or perhaps, the best of all -- was that he had kissed her back. He’d pinned her right up against the wall and devoured her, his hands sliding up her sides and grazing her breasts on the way to grasping her face. They’d broken apart only when the need for air had become too much to bear and even then they’d stayed close. Foreheads pressed together. His fingers tangled in her hair. Her heartbeat filling in the gaps between his, thudding harshly against her ribcage.

“Swan-”

“I love you.”

“What?”

He’d leaned back, shock clear as day on his face and there had been a part of her that had mentally face-palmed the second the words had slipped out of her mouth. But the thing about alcohol is that it has this nasty habit of removing all common sense and filters, and once she’d started, she couldn’t stop there. That first confession had been like opening up the floodgates.

“I know, I know. It’s crazy, right? I mean, you’re my best friend,” she’d said. “And I keep telling myself that it’s wrong and I shouldn’t...but I do. I love you, Killian, and I want to be with-”

Her words had been cut off by the abrupt jerk of her body, the traitorous liquor deciding in that moment that it no longer wished to remain settled in her belly. She’d felt the bile rise up in her throat mere seconds before she’d clamped her hand over her mouth and scurried off towards the bathroom.

Killian had stayed with her, of course. Holding her hair back while she’d spent most of the night being sick over the toilet. The next morning, she’d woken with the hangover to end all hangovers and had forgotten the entirety of the previous night’s events.

Until now.

Both of her hands slap over her mouth, eyes going wide almost comically as it all sinks in.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my _god_.”

* * *

“Killian!”

He ignores the call of his name, rounding the end of the stairs and slipping into the closet beneath the bannister. Mary Margaret waddles in after him, hands on her waist while she glares at him.

“What are you doing?”

“You know lass,” he starts, reaching for his coat. “I think I’m going to pass on Friendsgiving this year-”

“Uh-uh, no.” She cuts him off, snatching his jacket from his hands before he can begin to shrug it on. “No way.”

He gives her an exasperated look that she returns in equal measure.

“God, you and Emma really are two peas in a pod, aren’t you? Well, guess what,” she snaps. “If you think I’m just going to let you waltz out of here with all of your limbs in tact, boy, have I got news for you. I may be pregnant but I can still kick your ass and I am _not_ going to let either of you _ruin_ our Friendsgiving. Who else is going to carve the turkey?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you carve the turkey every year. It won’t be the same.”

She makes a show of shoving his coat back on the hanger and hooking it onto the rack. He’s never seen her this cross before and he has to admit that her temper is quite the sight to behold. He stares at her -- at the fire in her eyes and the scowl on her face -- and he absolutely does not doubt that she could incapacitate him with nothing more than a twist of his ear.

“What does it matter if I miss one year?”

“ _What does it matter?_ ” She practically snarls at him and he reflexively takes a step back. “It matters because we’re family. All of us.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, her words, and if there was anything that could have deflated his resolve to leave, it would have been that. Since Liam and Milah had passed away years ago, everyone left who were important to him were currently in that house.

She huffs out a heavy sigh and her expression softens fractionally when she gets a look at his face. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you need to figure it out or set it aside for a few more hours. I love you both, and I want you both here, and if either of you tries to leave again, I will handcuff each of you to a chair, _got it_?”

His only reply is to nod and that seems to be enough to appease her. He accepts the kiss she presses to his cheek and the gentle squeeze on his arm before she reopens the closet door and waves him outside.

Just a few more hours. He can survive a few more hours.

And then he gets a look at Emma coming down the stairs, remembers the brush of her lips and the perfect fit of her in his arms, remembers the green of her eyes when she had upended his world with three simple words -- _I love you_ \-- and remembers how she’d spent the next two weeks after pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He’s not sure what hurts more, having spent the last five years of his life pining after her, or holding everything he’s ever wanted in the palm of his hands and having it all slip through his fingers in mere seconds.

Maybe, he thinks, _maybe_ his heart can survive a few more hours of this.

* * *

It’s tradition at their Friendsgiving for everyone to go around the table and talk about what they’re most thankful for that year, but it’s hard for him to concentrate on the lot of them, when all he can think about is how Emma chose -- for the first time ever -- not to sit beside him. It’s hard for him to think straight at all when the ache in his chest is so pronounced he feels like he could suffocate from it.

_I love you, Killian, and I want to be with you_.

She hadn’t been able to finish the sentence, but it was easy enough to figure out what she meant.

Except that she really didn’t.

He doesn’t look up when it’s her turn to speak, he can’t, not if he wants to keep it together and keep his promise to Mary Margaret.

“Hey guys,” she starts, and he can hear the nerves in her voice. She’s always hated crowds, let alone speaking in front of one. “It’s good to see you all again. I...You guys know I hate doing this, so bear with me. Um. I...I’ve had a really great year. Work’s been good, my health’s been good. I still have a roof over my head and food on the table, which is more than I’ve ever had growing up, and...I’ve got all of you.”

She hesitates and he doesn’t have to glance at her to know she’s gnawing on her bottom lip. He reaches for his beer instead of taking a peek at her.

“I’ve also got probably the most amazing best friend anybody could ask for.”

He jolts in his seat, nearly knocking over the bottle in the process and his eyes finally snap to hers.

“I don’t know if you guys know this, but Killian is...he’s extremely loyal. He’s constant and steady and he’s got the biggest heart -- but don’t ever try telling him that because he says it ruins his reputation.”

That makes the room laugh in agreement, all eyes turning towards him, but he’s only got eyes for Emma. (He’s only ever had eyes for Emma.)

“Killian’s the kind of friend that will come over and fix your air conditioner when it’s acting up, or bring you soup when you’re sick, or go to the store and buy you tampons because your cramps are too bad for you to go get them yourself.” She chuckles lightly at that, glancing down while she wrings her hands and sniffles. “He’s the kind of friend that will climb out of bed at 2:00 AM to pick you up when you’ve shut down the bar and need help getting home. He’s supportive and encouraging and just...one of the best people I know.”

Her voice cracks at the end of that and he wants nothing more than to reach out and swipe his thumb across her cheek to catch the stray tear that’s spilled from her eye.

“I told him once that I didn’t deserve him and he’d jokingly said that that was the understatement of the century. Except that he was right. I _don’t_ deserve him, or his patience or his understanding or any of the things he’s so selflessly given me over the last five years, but I am so thankful to him for being there for me, for sticking by me through all the good times and all the bad ones.” She pauses to catch her breath, fingers pressing over her mouth to control what she can of her emotions and tears. “I just...I don’t _ever_ want to lose that and I-”

It’s too much by then, her quiet words abruptly cut off when she excuses herself from the table and slips out of the back door to collect herself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she mutters.

He knows that everyone thinks her apology had been to the table for her little emotional breakdown, but he knows better.

Robin’s hand covers his arm when he tries to go after, effectively keeping him in his seat.

“Give her a minute, mate,” he says quietly.

All he can do is nod.

* * *

She’s seated out on the steps of the porch when he finally makes it out to her, her makeup smudged by tear tracks and eyes red and sad. He sits beside her, nudging at her shoulder with his.

“I brought you a gift,” he announces, voice sounding more cheerful and light than he feels.

Her eyes drift towards him though she doesn’t reply, and he hands over the item in question, wrapped up with his cranberry-colored napkin from his place setting. Her brow furrows while she begins to unroll it from the cloth, but when she sees what it is, a tiny smile tugs up on the corners of her mouth.

He’s given her the wishbone from the turkey -- another tradition of theirs that happens every Thanksgiving.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Had to fight Ruby for it, this year,” he says. Another long beat of silence stretches on between them, and then, “Swan...what you said in there, about losing me? You’re never going to lose me.”

“Aren’t I?” she wonders, turning her face towards his. “Then why does it feel like I already am? I lose everybody, that’s just what I do. I always mess everything up. Why should you be any different?”

His brow furrows at that. “Emma, what are you talking about it?”

“Isn’t that what this is about? When I kissed you two weeks ago?” She looks away again, expression almost shameful. “When I- when I told you that I loved you?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“I’m sorry, okay? It was...so far out of line and it never should have happened and I know you don’t feel the same-”

“Hang on a minute, I don’t ‘ _feel the same_ ’? What are you- _Emma_ , I’ve had feelings for you since-”

“Wait,” she interrupts, shifting in her seat so she can angle her body towards him. “ _What?_ ”

He stares at her a moment, eyes searching her face. “You had no idea?”

“ _Since when?_ ” she demands.

“Since...” he gestures at nothing with his hand. “I don’t bloody know, probably since we climbed David’s fire escape that first night we met and you rolled your eyes at me when I told you that we made quite the team.” At her lack of reply, he continues on. “Emma, you had only ever wanted to be friends, and _I_ didn’t want to lose _you_ , so I never pushed for anything more.”

He is restless, extremely agitated and he stands up to walk down the remaining steps so he has more room to pace. “That night you kissed me- when you’d told me you- when you’d said you loved me and wanted to be with me...I thought you’d meant it, and I thought the next morning, things were going to be different, but you had went on like nothing had changed.”

She rests both elbows on her knees and covers her mouth with her fingertips, looking distraught as tears begin to well up in her eyes. Despite the frustration he feels and the deep ache in his chest that threatens to break his heart in two, he feels like an asshole for putting that look on her face, for making her cry. He scrubs a hand over his face and resumes his pacing.

“I have thought of little else since then, Swan, and it was so hard to look at you and remember and not-”

“You’re an idiot, Killian Jones.”

That makes him stop in his tracks, makes his head shoot towards her, a questioning look on his face. “Pardon?”

She laughs, an incredulous, disbelieving sound. “You are a goddamn, _idiot_.”

He blinks at her, unsure of what to say to that as he’s utterly confused by her reaction and the affection shining warmly in her eyes.

“Come here,” she says finally.

“I-” he waves his hand towards the step just below where she’s sitting. “I’ve just laid my heart out for you at your feet and you-”

“Will you just come sit down for a minute?” She doesn’t snap but it’s a near thing.

Over the years he’s come to terms with the fact that there’s very little he would deny Emma Swan, particularly when she looks at him in just the way she’s looking at him now, with her eyes bright and infinitely soft, and a secret little smile ghosting her lips. He sighs, an exasperated huff, but moves to take his place beside her. He watches her hold the wishbone up, grasping one end with her pinky and waiting for him to do the same with the opposite end.

“Swan,” he shakes his head. “I hardly think this is the time to be-”

“Killian,” she cuts him off. “Just humor me please.”

He looks at her again, the strong, stubborn woman who has held his heart for so long, beautiful under the glowing lights of the porch, her cheeks pink from the cold Autumn air, and he takes his side of the wishbone in his pinky.

“Make a wish, Killian.”

“The only wish I have-”

“Shh-shh-shh,” she chides. “You can’t say it out loud, you know that’s not how it works. Close your eyes and make your wish.”

He sighs once more but closes his eyes, and wishes, with all of his might, that she-

She kisses him.

Just leans right over and presses her lips to his, and everything that he’s been bottling up explodes out of him. He reacts instinctively, free hand reaching up to cup the back of her head and hold her to him. Almost like he never wants to let her go.

It’s different from that first time -- softer, slower, more tender.

But his heart doesn’t feel any more prepared, clenching in his chest and pounding so hard he feels dizzy and weak from it. He feels her pull the wishbone from his grasp, hears it fall somewhere on the steps beneath them, and then her arms are winding around his neck to pull him closer. His own arms wrap around her, hands sliding up her back and gripping tightly at the soft material of her sweater.

When she pulls away, his eyes remain closed, as if savoring the taste of her and the feel of her. She touches their foreheads together and bumps her nose sweetly against his.

“You really thought I would just intentionally...not bring something like that up?”

“Given your history, can you blame me for being uncertain? I thought...you’d changed your mind.”

She shakes her head against him, her own sigh puffing out warm against his lips. “I didn’t remember -- another thing to thank tequila about, I guess -- and when I _did_...after the way you’d been acting, I thought...” She shrugs, unable to say the rest of it.

But she doesn’t need to because she’s his best friend and she’s always been an open book. Without his own feelings and fear making it impossible to see things clearly, he knows exactly what she thought, what _she_ was afraid of -- that he didn’t feel the same, that he didn’t want to be with her, and worse, that he didn’t _love_ her the same way she loves him.

Mary Margaret was right, they really were two peas in a pod.

He leans forward -- because he wants to, because he _can_ \-- and closes the distance between them to kiss her again. This time he pours his frustration into the kiss, his anger at them both for their unbelievably poor communication, and every ounce of desire he’s kept tucked away for five bloody years. He wants her to know that he wants her, that he wants _this_ , but most of all, he wants her to know that he loves her too.

Today, tomorrow, and every tomorrow after.

“Hey!” A voice calls out, and they break apart to turn towards its source.

Killian scowls, but Emma laughs, resting her temple against his cheek while they stare at all of their friends crowded around the doorway and windows, their happy faces pressed up against the glass while they watch his and Emma’s Happy Ending unfold.

“Food’s getting cold!” David hollers.

“Oh, bugger off!” Killian shouts back, turning to Emma again. “I’ve waited five bloody years for this, he can wait another five minutes to eat.”

She grins at him, one of her hands sliding around to cup his cheek so she can trail her thumb along the scruff of his jaw. She traces the dimple in his cheek with her finger and he swallows her giggles with another kiss pressed to her lips.

_Fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special shoutout to Sarah (@lifeinahole27) for the prompt and for holding my hand through this monster that just didn’t want to get written. You’re the best, my friend! <3


End file.
